Grief is not the Suez Canal
by EGB Fan
Summary: A visit to a medium has a curious effect on Eduardo when it digs up some unpleasant memories.


_Extreme Ghostbusters: _**Grief is not the Suez Canal**

"So." Garrett smiled warmly at the little blond girl as she hauled herself to her feet. "How'd I do?"

"Terrific," Emma replied enthusiastically. "You get better every time."

"You're just saying that," Garrett said with a grin.

"No I'm not, I mean it," Emma insisted, looking up at Garrett's tutor for support. "I'm right, aren't I, Jill? He's really improving."

"He's doing great," Jill confirmed, rolling the mat they had been using into a tight little ball. "He'd have to be, or we would never have let him touch you."

Garrett liked Emma a lot. She was ten, and had cystic fibrosis, hence the physiotherapy sessions. She was also the sweetest, happiest little girl you could ever hope to meet. It was nothing short of tragic that she was unlikely to live beyond the age of twenty, but Garrett tried not to think about that.

He was always sorry to leave the warm, friendly atmosphere of Emma's house either for home, college or the Firehouse. Today it was the Firehouse. Jill dropped him off in her tired old car and helped him into his chair; Garrett waved her off and then wheeled himself into the building.

At least the atmosphere at the college was one of a typically buzzing campus of students, many of whom were friendly and smiling. The Firehouse, on the other hand, could at times be unwelcoming and even hostile. At the moment Roland was lost in his own little cyber-world, looking at psychology studies on the Internet in preparation for some test or other. As for Eduardo and Kylie, they were deeply engrossed in some kind of argument. There would be no "Hey Garrett" that morning, it seemed.

"You don't understand," Eduardo said, with a withering look. "It's not your beliefs I'm criticising. It's that moron exploiting them."

"But he's for real!" Kylie insisted, in passionate tones. "He was saying stuff he couldn't possibly have known!"

"But Kylie," Eduardo went on patiently - unusually so for him - "think about what this guy actually said to you. He said it was an older woman, right?"

"Right."

"First he asked if it was your grandmother. Chances were she was dead, but she's not, so he asked was it your great-grandmother. I mean come on, how many people your age have great-grandmothers? That was a pretty dead cert."

"But he knew her name," Kylie argued.

"He did not know her name. All he said was, 'I think flowers have some significance for you.' That could mean anything. You might have told him she was interested in botany, or that she used to take you for walks in the park to look at flowers, or that somebody gave her a bunch of roses in nineteen-thirty-six. And then you went, 'Ooh yes, her name was Rose!' "

Garrett looked from one to the other with interest. Kylie sat defiant, arms folded across her chest, pouting like a spoilt child. The poor girl so wanted to believe she had made contact with her Grandma Rose. And even if she hadn't, if it made her happy then where was the harm? Really, Garrett felt, Eduardo was being unnecessarily cruel here.

"Been to see a medium, Ky?" Garrett asked brightly.

"All mediums are frauds," Eduardo cut in before Kylie could answer. "It's just clever tricks and thought manipulation." He turned back to Kylie. "Why can't you see that?"

"Come on Eddie, you don't know that," countered Garrett. "We know there's life after death. Maybe some of these guys are actually for real."

"Yeah, we know there's life after death," Eduardo agreed, "but you can actually see how these so-called mediums do it. They're clearly fake."

"How would you know?" Kylie retorted. "Have you ever actually talked to one?"

"Not personally," Eduardo answered. "I've seen them on TV, and this Patrick Fogg of yours doesn't sound any different from them."

"Well he is," Kylie insisted. She had seen these TV mediums as well, and she too doubted their sincerity. But she had been so convinced by Patrick Fogg.

"And you can't judge," she went on challengingly, jabbing a forefinger at Eduardo's chest, "if you've never even seen this guy."

"What, you actually want me to go and talk to him?" scoffed Eduardo. "Please!"

"You don't have to talk to him," said Kylie. "There's always loads of people there. You just have to listen to what he says to them and see if you still think he's a fraud."

"Oh... sure," Eduardo relented, after a moment's thought. "What harm could it do? We can count up how many right and wrong guesses he gets and then see if you still think he's for real."

x x x

Kylie soon regretted making Eduardo go to this thing. In the small amphitheatre she sat beside him, but felt aware that she was gradually sliding along the wooden bench almost into the lap of the middle-aged man to her right. Eduardo had said he would sit quietly and listen. She should have made him promise. She never should have trusted him to behave himself.

"Ok," Fogg said, for the fourth time that evening, eyes closed and fingers on his temples. He was a normal looking guy. Early-to-mid thirties, light brown hair, medium height and build (no pun intended). Upon seeing him, Eduardo had quickly pointed out that whoever was responsible for handing out psychic abilities obviously allocated the gift pretty randomly. He was right, of course. There was nothing special about this guy.

"Ok," Fogg said again. "Does the name George mean anything to anybody?"

Eduardo scoffed loudly, and Kylie moved half a centimetre to her right. By now her thigh was touching that of the balding man. He looked down at her exposed knee, and then at Kylie herself, with a look of puzzlement. Kylie smiled apologetically, and grudgingly moved a quarter of a centimetre back towards Eduardo.

"Me!" cried out an elderly woman in the crowd. "I know George!"

That poor woman, Eduardo thought. She was in tears already. Fogg approached her and went on solemnly, "I've got George with me. Is he perhaps your husband?"

"See?" Eduardo whispered in Kylie's ear. He had to lean over quite a way to reach her. "If he could really talk to dead people, he wouldn't have to ask."

"Shut UP!" hissed Kylie, her voice an angry shriek. Then, in the hopes of really shutting him up, she added in a whisper, "I get your point, ok? Maybe you're... right."

Eduardo grinned at her. "I'm what?" he teased.

After about five minutes Fogg was finished with George's widow. George wanted her to be happy, and she wasn't to be afraid of trying new things just because he wasn't there to experience them with her. As for Kylie, she had even moved a little further from her new companion back towards her old. He had said nothing for at least three minutes. That had to be some kind of record.

"Ah, this is an interesting one," Fogg said, his eyes wandering slowly over the audience. "Who owns a paraffin stove?"

This time Eduardo laughed out loud, and Kylie slid quickly back over to the middle-aged man. Their legs were touching and her hand was almost in his lap, which at least made it look like she was nothing to do with the heckler on her left.

"Who's got electric lighting in their house?" Eduardo said through his laughter. Then he raised his hand and said in a mocking, singsong voice, "Me-e!"

Oh. My. God - Kylie thought to herself. Should she climb into this man's lap? Would that be too much? It was a tough call. Fogg, she noticed, was now looking expressionlessly at Eduardo as he approached them.

"Something tells me you're not a-hundred per cent sure you believe in what I'm saying," the medium observed.

"What tipped you off?" Eduardo returned sarcastically.

"It's all right," Fogg said patiently. "I can understand you have doubts. You're looking for proof."

"I'm looking for nothing," Eduardo shot back. "Leave me alone, man."

"Wait," Fogg went on. "I've got somebody with me who wants to talk to you."

"Yeah." Another scoff. The tenth of the evening, at least. "Whatever."

"It's an older man. Your father, perhaps?"

This stirred something in Eduardo, but he was determined not to rise to the bait. "You're the psychic," he said cautiously. "You tell me."

"I think it's your father. He's not on this side of life." Fogg looked squarely at Eduardo and added, "Is he?"

"No." Lucky guess. "No, he's not."

Don't give him anything else. Don't! If he's really a psychic, he can figure it out for himself.

"He says he loves you and he misses you very much."

"Is that it?" Eduardo dropped his guard again. "That's so obvious."

"Wait, there's more," Fogg insisted. "I think your father left someone else behind besides you. Did he have any other close family?"

"Yeah. I got a brother."

Damn. Shouldn't have said that.

"He just keeps saying to me, tell them to sort it out. Have you and your brother had some kind of disagreement?"

"We don't always get on," Eduardo shrugged.

"No," Fogg insisted, "I think this is something big. He just keeps saying sort it out, sort it out... You and your brother have fallen out over something. It's to do with a life choice. Maybe a girlfriend, or a job."

Eduardo stared at Fogg. Carlos had been pestering him about the Ghostbusters that very morning. Finally, after what seemed like an age, he found his voice: "Oh you're having a laugh!"

"Your father's saying," Fogg continued, "that it was the right choice. You won't regret it. He wants you to apologise to your brother, regardless of who is in the wrong, and start again."

"Oh man." Eduardo's head was in his hands, and Kylie was feeling an almost irrepressible urge to throw her arms around him. Finally Eduardo looked up and asked, his tone trying and failing to hit humorous, "Anything else?"

"Just that he misses you very much, and he'll love you both no matter what you decide to do."

"I'm sorry." Eduardo got to his feet and took a deep breath. Then he said again, "I'm sorry, I have to get out of here."

As Eduardo hurried for the exit, Kylie got to her feet as well. She almost followed Eduardo, but her anger overcame her, and instead she turned on Patrick Fogg.

"What the hell did you do that for?" she screeched. She was aware of how ridiculous she must sound, but she was so indignant on Eduardo's behalf that she didn't care. "Couldn't you see how freaked out he was? Why the hell did you tell him all of that stuff?"

"Hey honey, calm down," Fogg attempted to pacify her.

"Don't you honey me!" Kylie fumed. "Death is a very sensitive subject! You can't just go charging in telling people you're getting messages from their dead fathers! I thought you'd realise that!"

"If your friend feels like that," Fogg returned evenly, "maybe he should have asked me to stop. Or maybe he shouldn't have come here tonight in the first place."

"He's right," announced the elderly woman whose turn had come before Eduardo's. "If he's not going to respect our beliefs and what goes on here, why come in the first place? Serves him right, I'd say."

"Oh God, you're so STUPID!" Kylie yelled. She hated herself for it, but she felt ready to explode, and frankly was unable to stop herself. "George could have been anyone! My grandfather once had a cat called George! Somebody in this room could be called George! And everything this guy said to you that wasn't total garbage - which, let's face it, most of it was - was just a lucky guess!"

x x x

Well, Kylie thought, as she sat catatonically on the subway train on her way home. She couldn't go back _there _again. Not that she'd want to, of course. Eduardo had been right. Patrick Fogg couldn't talk to dead people any more than she could lick her own eyeballs.

Eduardo, she decided, needed the night to calm down and think things through. He definitely would not appreciate her knocking on his door in the middle of the night with a tearful apology. Hell, the guy probably hated her guts. For which, she had to admit, she couldn't blame him.

x x x

When Garrett arrived at the Firehouse the next morning, Roland absolutely insisted on teaching him to play Chinese chess. Eduardo hadn't been interested. Janine and Egon had both said they were busy, and Slimer was just too slow even for Roland's patience. So Garrett had taken pity on Roland, as he was obviously just dying to teach somebody this fantastic new game he had discovered.

"I don't get it," Garrett said, after five minutes of pretty pathetic play. "Why can't my elephants cross the river?"

"They just can't," Roland said irritably. "Those are the rules."

"So what's the point in them?"

"You need them," Roland explained, as patiently as he could, "to protect your general. As the game goes on you'll actually find them very useful."

At that moment Kylie burst into the room, looking for all the world as though she had run a marathon, crying desperately, "Eduardo?" without even a look at her surroundings.

"Hey." Eduardo looked up from his position on the sofa and smiled pleasantly. On seeing him Kylie breathed out heavily, threw herself onto the seat next to him and flung her arms around his neck.

"Oh Eduardo," she almost sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I should never have made you go."

"Come on, Ky, you didn't make me go," Eduardo said, returning her embrace with the faintest of smiles.

"Yes I did," Kylie returned, now pulling away from Eduardo and looking him in the eye.

"Ok," he conceded, "maybe you did. But what happened wasn't your fault." With a half-smile he added, "Serves me right for heckling."

"Well." Kylie looked down at her hands, which were folded in her lap. "Yeah. But even so."

"I almost believed it," Eduardo went on, "but when I had time to think about what he actually said to me... well, I felt pretty stupid, as it goes."

"Oh come on," Kylie tried to reassure him. "You're not stupid. Anyone could have been taken in by that. Are... you ok?"

"I'm fine," Eduardo shrugged. "I mean I was pretty freaked out at first, but I was fine after I actually thought it through. I mean, of course my dad left somebody behind other than me. Of course I've argued with my brother before now. And the chances were we might have fallen out over a girlfriend or a job. The guy didn't know which, and he didn't even know which of us the girlfriend or the job belonged to. Lucky guesses, like I said."

"Eduardo..." Kylie began uncertainly.

Eduardo turned his head away from her, but couldn't resist a sideways glance at her pitying face. He knew what she wanted to say, and it wasn't an unreasonable question. When you had known somebody for almost a year, you generally expected to have been told you at some point if one of their parents was dead. But then no one had ever asked about either of his parents, and it wasn't something he felt comfortable talking about. So why the hell should he?

In all honesty, this was something he desperately wanted to share with Kylie. Never had Eduardo worn his heart on his sleeve, but here was someone he knew he could easily talk to about... well, about anything. Including terrible, deeply emotional things that had been bottled up inside him for years. Maybe an emotional outburst would even make Kylie feel about him the same way he felt about her.

Yeah right. There was no way that was going to happen, and therefore no way he was going to show her his softer side. If she wanted to see that, it had to be on his terms. They had to be more than friends. And Eduardo knew that, at times, Kylie didn't even consider him a friend.

"Not now, Ky, huh?" he said wearily.

"Ok," Kylie agreed. She wasn't going to push. Eduardo wasn't sure whether to feel grateful for this, or disappointed.

x x x

Garrett caught up with Kylie just as she was leaving for home that evening. This was the perfect opportunity for him to catch her alone, as Eduardo and Roland had the graveyard shift that night.

"So what happened with Eduardo last night?" Garrett asked, as casually as he could, after offering to supervise her walk to the bus stop.

"We went to see a medium," Kylie replied simply, "and he got a little bit freaked out. He seems ok now, though."

"I... didn't know his father was dead."

"Neither did I."

"Why do you suppose he didn't tell us?"

"Well, we never asked," shrugged Kylie, coming to a halt as they approached the bus stop. The night air was unpleasantly warm, and etched with the stifling smell of exhaust fumes. "You know what Eduardo's like. He doesn't talk about things. Especially things that matter," she added.

"So... what exactly did this medium say?"

"Well, he managed to get Eduardo to tell him that his father was dead, and that he had a brother. And then he made a few lucky guesses: something about a disagreement over a life choice or something. Eduardo didn't really tell him anything much - or at least not as much as he probably would have liked - but the answers were written all over him," Kylie added, looking thoughtful as she reflected back on the events of the previous evening. "It's a pretty clever trick those guys do actually. Too bad it's so exploitative."

x x x

On his way home Garrett thought about what Kylie had told him, and decided that he couldn't really blame Eduardo for freaking out. Hell, something like that would probably have spooked him too. Garrett wondered if it had occurred to Eduardo that this medium may have been telling him the truth. The existence of ghosts was, after all, pretty much proven for them, which surely said something in the favour of mediums.

There was a message on Garrett's machine when he got home. He pulled a Pepsi out of the fridge and took a swig before playing the message. He was expecting it to be a "Call me soon honey" message from his mother, or maybe a friend wanting to discuss some recent sporting event or other. However when Garrett heard the shaky voice of his physio tutor struggling painfully to find the right words, he went as white as a sheet.

"Garrett, it's Jill," spat the second-rate machine, making her voice sound even more broken and distorted than it probably had been originally. "I've got bad news. It's about Emma. Please call me as soon as you can."

When Jill had left the message, Emma had been fighting for her life on a cold, hard hospital bed. Now that bed lay empty, made up nicely for the next tragedy or miracle. When Garrett phoned Jill, he learnt that the little girl had died half an hour before.

"I... I don't understand it," Garrett stammered. "She seemed fine yesterday morning. I thought it was supposed to be gradual."

"Well," Jill returned, her voice choked, "perhaps that it was so sudden is something to be thankful for."

"But she was ten!" Garrett made no effort to hide his tears.

"I know," Jill said quietly. "It's terrible."

Terrible. Garrett's grandmother was eighty-four, and still able to potter around the supermarket at weekends. Emma was only ten. And she was dead. Terrible didn't cover it. Tragic, appalling and utterly heartbreaking didn't do it justice either. No word in existence could be used to describe the tragedy. But if Garrett had to pick one, he'd say it was downright unfair.

x x x

Eduardo woke up sweating all over, and with an unpleasant burning sensation in his left cheek. His throat was dry, and he felt that if he didn't move at that moment, the sheer discomfort he was feeling would kill him.

He prised himself free of the cushion he had slept on, and manoeuvred himself into a kneeling position. Once the feeling of disorientation had passed, Eduardo remembered that he had spent the night on the sofa at the Firehouse. His face felt heavy, and he massaged it with his hands, wishing there was some cold water in his palms instead of sweat. His throat was so dry it felt pinched. He thought if he tried to speak, it would come out as an inaudible croak.

"Morning," came Janine's voice from somewhere in the room.

"Hey," Eduardo rasped. He hadn't seen her, but then he hadn't seen anything much but spots since waking up.

"Ooh." Janine winced with sympathy on hearing Eduardo's pathetic croak. "Now that's what I call a frog in the throat. Are you ok?"

Eduardo cleared his throat as best he could and said, "Fine. I just need to go to the bathroom."

Not only was he sweating like a pig while his mouth remained as dry as a desert, but his bladder was full as well. The state he was in now brought a whole new meaning to the word uncomfortable. All he really wanted to do was jump into a nice cool shower. That way he could kill three birds with one stone.

Typically the bathroom was occupied. Eduardo jigged up and down impatiently outside the door and then, realising that this action was doing nothing to help the sticky perspiration seeping from his pores, he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Predictably the garment absolutely reeked. After his shower he would have to get another one out of his locker.

If he ever got into the damn bathroom!

Moments later the sound of the toilet flushing came from within the bathroom; the door opened and Roland waltzed out. The look of contentment on his face angered Eduardo slightly. Didn't he realise he wasn't the only one who had sanitary needs?

"Ooh, Eduardo," Roland said, his voice filled with concern. "You look terrible. Are you ok?"

"No time!" Eduardo returned impatiently, before pushing his way past Roland and slamming the bathroom door behind him.

Roland was surprised and a little put out by this, but he supposed it wasn't unlike Eduardo, and so didn't dwell on it. Instead he wandered downstairs and made his way to the kitchen. It was no surprise to find Slimer raiding the fridge. Kylie was there as well, pouring boiling water into a mug - which presumably had coffee in it - from the kettle.

"Morning," Kylie smiled pleasantly. Then she gestured with her head to the jar of coffee at her side and asked, "Want some?"

"Thanks," Roland said, and so Kylie spooned some coffee beans into another mug, followed by what remained in the kettle.

"Eduardo might appreciate one too," Roland went on. "A strong one with a lot of sugar, I shouldn't wonder. I've just seen him looking like he slept in a closet."

Eduardo stood under the shower, head tilted to the right, allowing the cold water to splash over his burning cheek. The fiery sensation was still there, and still bothering him immensely. There was plenty of hot water, but Eduardo would have been quite happy to shower in sub-zero temperatures that morning.

Once he felt relatively comfortable, he climbed out of the shower and into his jeans. No need to get dry. Contact with a towel would probably induce that intolerable sweatiness again, whereas spending the morning in wet jeans was likely to help him stay cool. Then he picked up his two gold rings from the back of the basin and drove them carelessly into his earlobes, aggravating the slight itch that remained there.

Sweaty t-shirt in hands, Eduardo made straight for the kitchen. Roland was sitting at the table, reading about some promotional offer on the back of cereal box whilst chewing slowly and noisily on its contents. Kylie was there too, kettle poised over a mug sporting a cheerful picture of Snoopy and Woodstock.

On seeing Eduardo, topless and with droplets of water falling deftly from his tousled hair, Kylie was surprised at the churning sensation she felt in her stomach. It must be because she still felt bad about taking him to see that medium. She swallowed a lump in her throat, and then smiled. "Coffee, Eduardo?" she asked.

"God, no!" Eduardo flinched.

Understandably taken aback by this, Kylie put down the kettle and looked at Eduardo in bewilderment.

"Sorry," he added, on seeing her reaction. "I need something cold." He threw his t-shirt carelessly over the back of a chair and went to the fridge. "I mean _really_ cold. I'm so hot it's not even funny."

Kylie furrowed her brow with concern. "Are you ok?" she asked.

Before Eduardo had time to answer, Janine came into the room and took a seat at the table. The three Ghostbusters all noticed her expression of sheer despair. Roland was the first to find his voice and ask, "What's wrong?"

"Garrett's not coming in today," Janine began flatly. "The, uh... the little girl Emma. The one with CF."

"Yes?" Kylie hated to ask. She thought she knew what was coming. "What about her?"

"She died last night," Janine answered simply.

"Oh God." Roland's spoon clattered to the table, and he put his head in his hands. "That's awful. Her poor family." His own brother Casey was about the same age as Emma.

Slimer was also visibly upset by the news. His mouth drooping and his eyes brimming with tears, he slumped to the floor. Vaguely Kylie wondered if it brought back memories for the little green ghoul.

"Garrett's distraught," Janine continued. "I told him to take all the time off he needs."

"Are you sure that was wise?" Roland asked. "I know it must be difficult for him, but surely it's better to keep busy at a time like this."

"Hey," Eduardo suddenly snapped, taking them all by surprise. "You know nothing. You never lost anybody so how can you possibly know what's best?"

"I just..." Roland began feebly.

"Well don't," Eduardo interrupted. "And definitely don't say anything to Garrett the next time you see him, because when somebody dies there's nothing worse than do-gooders thinking they know better than you and telling you what to do all the time."

Kylie opened her mouth to say something, but Eduardo wasn't finished yet.

"Everyone thinks they've got the answer," he went on. "People telling you to keep busy, other people telling you to do nothing. You have to cry, you have to talk about it... Well I got news for you. You have to do what feels right, and nobody else knows what that is. Least of all," he added, "ignorant bystanders who wouldn't know grief if it slapped them in the face!"

With that Eduardo stormed out, jaw set firm as steel, brown eyes blazing. Roland, Janine and Kylie all stared after him, dumbfounded.

"Whoa," Roland said at last. "I don't think I deserved that!"

"Of course you didn't," Kylie said quietly, sitting down at the table opposite him. "But he's right, you know. When my Grandma Rose died, everybody had advice. Whenever somebody tried to tell me how to deal with my grief, I just wanted to hit them. Sometimes worse," she added.

"I never know what to say to someone who's just gone through that," Janine put in. "Losing someone, I mean."

"Well," Kylie returned, "the worst thing you can do is say nothing. A lot of people just avoided me and didn't say anything when it happened to me, simply because they didn't know what to say. And that's just horrible."

x x x

Garrett didn't know what on earth he was supposed to say to Emma's parents. But he knew he had to say something. He couldn't just avoid them, because that would be horrible: probably worse than saying totally the wrong thing. So he went to their home, knocked on their door and was gratefully received by Emma's mother Jane.

"We're so glad you're here," Jane said, with the slightest trace of a smile as she invited him in. "It seems like people have been avoiding us."

"It's just because nobody knows how to act around you," Garrett replied gently. "I certainly don't. You, uh, may have noticed the eggshells under my chair."

Jane looked puzzled for a moment, and then her expression cleared as she understood the reference. She led Garrett through to the sitting room, where her husband James was leafing through an old photo album. The sight of him brought a lump to Garrett's throat.

"It's ok," Jane said, in response to Garrett's comment. "I understand. We can talk about Emma if you want to."

It wasn't as bad as Garrett had imagined. Surely it was a good sign that Jane was able to speak her daughter's name without bursting into tears.

"It's not what I want that matters," said Garrett. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I've been doing this since last night," ventured James, with a weak smile at Garrett. "I just feel like I have to keep busy."

Garrett nodded. "Me too," he said, instantly hating himself for comparing his own grief to what he knew James and Jane must be going through.

"We feel we ought to put some pictures of Emma on display," Jane explained, her bottom lip trembling as she spoke. "So we can remember how happy she was."

"I think we should send some of these to the family," James added, addressing his wife. "I think they'd appreciate that. Don't you?"

"I know they would," Garrett volunteered.

"You can take one," James said. Then he added quietly, "If... if you want to."

"I'd love to," enthused Garrett. "If you're sure you don't mind."

"Please." Jane picked up one of the numerous photo albums at her husband's side, and handed it to Garrett. "Take your pick."

James and Jane were obviously so grateful for his company that Garrett felt obliged to stay with them far longer than he had intended. Therefore it was nearing three o'clock in the afternoon when he finally sat in his wheelchair on the street outside their house, squinting at the minuscule print on the leaf he had torn from the Yellow Pages.

So many people lived in this city, as a single page from the book demonstrated. As he made his way through the litter-lined streets, Garrett wondered how many of those people had lost a loved one, and how many had yet to experience that. He knew full well that he was of the number yet to lose someone close. Ok, so he had lost Emma, and it had broken his heart. But in all honesty he had hardly known her, and he felt a slight pang of guilt when he realised that most of the sadness he felt stemmed from the girl's youth and exuberance rather than from any personal connection with her. Oh yes, the impossible suffering of losing a loved one was something he had yet to learn. Of course Eduardo and Kylie could probably tell him all about it.

He honestly hadn't known that Eduardo's father was dead. Vaguely Garrett wondered how it had happened, how long ago, and how Eduardo's bizarre family structure had allowed them all to deal with it. Then he stopped wondering, because he had reached his destination.

It was just a normal, middle-class, middle-income, one-garage, common or garden semi-detached house. Garrett knocked on the door, and was gratified when it was opened by a woman who looked to be in her thirties, sporting jeans and a sweater, medium-brown wavy hair and a pleasant enough smile.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked politely.

"Does a Patrick Fogg live here?" Garrett asked.

"Yes," the woman confirmed. "I'm his wife Lisa."

"Hi Lisa," Garrett smiled weakly. "Is your husband in?"

"Well..." Lisa hesitated, and then asked, "What's this about?"

"Your husband's a medium, right?"

Lisa frowned. "He's what?" she said at last.

Oops. Garrett flinched inwardly. He had clearly got this Patrick Fogg character into trouble with the wife. Aloud he said, "Never mind. May I please see your husband? It's about a business matter."

"All right," Lisa conceded, though Garrett sensed her mind was half on him, and half on the comment about Fogg being a medium. "Come on in."

Garrett wheeled himself through to the sitting room, where Fogg was on the sofa, reading the New York Times. Garrett had read the obituaries that morning. Emma was in there already, alongside a gut-wrenchingly patronising clip-art image of a cherub on a cloud.

"Honey," Lisa began, "you have a visitor."

Fogg looked up from his paper, and examined his caller with mild curiosity. "Do I know you?" he asked Garrett, staring fixedly at the young man's face and clearly trying to recall a name.

"No, you don't know me," Garrett said, before Fogg strained himself with trying to remember so hard. "I heard about you from a friend of mine. I... wondered if you could loan me your services."

Fogg looked up at his wife, who said humbly, "I'll leave you to it then," before wandering out of the room.

Once confident that Lisa was out of earshot, Fogg carefully folded his newspaper, not taking his eyes from Garrett's face. "You want a reading?" he asked.

"Yes," Garrett replied. "If you can. But let me warn you I have absolutely no intention of getting screwed around here. So tell me truthfully. Are you the real deal?"

"Of course I am," Fogg answered with a frown.

"I mean it," Garrett cautioned. "This is important to me. There's somebody I really want to contact. I know that ghosts exist, so if you're a fraud tell me now and I'll find another way."

"I'm not a fraud," Fogg said evenly.

"Ok," Garrett nodded. "So let's go. Have you got anybody with you now?"

"Well, perhaps if you give me an idea of who it is you want to contact..."

"Oh no," Garrett shot back challengingly. "No way. I'm not falling for that one. I'm telling you nothing, capische? If you can tell me what I want to hear, I'll know you're not kidding around with this. If you can really talk to dead people, do it. Otherwise I'm outta here."

Fogg furrowed his brow and asked, "How much are you planning to pay me for this?"

"Is that all you're interested in?" Garrett spun his chair to face the door. "Look, Mr. Fogg, I think we're both wasting our time here. I'd better be going."

"Wait." Fogg approached and put his hand on Garrett's shoulder. "I'm getting something. An older woman."

"Sorry," Garrett said flatly, hiding the pang of disappointment that went through him. "I'm not interested in speaking to any older woman."

"But it's important," Fogg insisted. "She's adamant that she has to talk to you. She... she's showing me the letter E."

Garrett caught his breath. "Yes?" he asked cautiously. "What about the letter E?"

"I'm not sure," Fogg said, genuinely sounding as though he was concentrating hard. "It's referring to a specific person. It's probably a name. Do you know anyone whose name begins with E?"

"Tons of people," Garrett returned. And it was true. This could so easily be a coincidence.

"Fine," shrugged Fogg, returning to his comfortable leather sofa and his paper. "Don't believe me. But I can't interpret the message unless you help me. All I know is, your E is in some kind of trouble."

"Oh yeah?" This time Garrett couldn't hide the unease in his voice. "What?"

"Like I say," Fogg shrugged, "I don't know."

"Right, right," Garrett returned sceptically. "You don't know until I slip you a twenty."

"I've told you everything I can, and I know there's no point in trying to charge you for it. Strange," he added. "I feel I've heard from this woman before. She's very upset about something, obviously. Are you sure I haven't seen you before?"

"Positive."

"Weird. Maybe it was that friend you mentioned. Anyway, just make sure you look out for anyone you know whose name begins with E, ok?"

"Right," Garrett muttered, as he made his way towards the front door, wondering which of his two conflicting opinions about this guy would eventually win over. "I'll do that."

x x x

Eduardo went home that evening with the intention of crawling into bed and going straight to sleep. But he found that he had only to sit on the mattress before that horrible, overwhelming heat began snaking its way from the pit of his stomach, through his limbs, into all of his fingers and toes; up the back of his neck and finally to his head. It was just ridiculous really. He obviously wasn't well.

There were two Aspirin in the bathroom cabinet. Eduardo swallowed them both, and made a mental note to pick up some more the next time he did some food shopping. Ever since Kylie had taken him to see that damn medium, he had been getting a lot of headaches.

His clothes were clinging to his body like an uncomfortable second skin. Quickly Eduardo stripped, and then looked at his face in the mirror. The only light in the room was coming through the window from the street lamps outside, but in it Eduardo could well see the shadows under his eyes. He put a hand to his face; his natural tan had disappeared. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so sick as to go this pale. Pursing his lips in thought, Eduardo realised that there was something very wrong with him, and started to worry just a little.

Then he experienced something of a cliché from chiller movies of all eras.

Eduardo stooped to splash some cold water over his face, hoping to improve his exhausted complexion. When he stood upright once again, he saw a figure standing behind him in the mirror. He turned instantly, gripping the basin so hard that his knuckles went white. Clearly he expected to find that he had a visitor, but instead he saw what would have been expected in those chillers: nothing.

He simply frowned, standing quite still as he tried to remember the features of the person he had seen in the mirror. After thinking about his father so much lately, this was the first possibility that came to mind; but the more Eduardo thought about it, the more he became convinced that he had seen Kylie's Grandma Rose. He had never met the woman, but he had seen plenty of pictures of her.

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. He had caught only a brief glimpse of the woman in the mirror; perhaps his memory was using Kylie's photographs to fill in the gaps. Wasn't that what memories did? Make stuff up? Too exhausted to think about it, Eduardo wandered to his bed, his clothes left in a heap on the bathroom floor, and fell into an uncomfortable sleep above the covers.

x x x

If Egon was surprised to see Garrett at the Firehouse the following morning, it didn't show. He simply smiled politely and said, "Good morning, Garrett. We were all very sorry to hear about Emma."

"Thanks," returned Garrett, meaning it. Then he gave Egon a look and said, "Your name begins with E."

"Um... yes," Egon agreed, visibly puzzled by this statement. "Yes, it does."

"Sorry. I saw Kylie's medium yesterday," Garrett explained. "I don't know whether to believe him, but he said somebody I know whose name begins with E is heading for trouble."

"Emma begins with E," Egon pointed out.

"Yes," nodded Garrett, "I thought of that. But so does yours, and so does Eduardo's, come to think of it."

"Actually I'm a little worried about Eduardo. He was acting strangely yesterday, and when I saw him this morning he didn't look good at all."

"Maybe he's possessed."

"Maybe," Egon went on, "we should be worried about this medium character. He seems to have dug up a lot of painful memories for Eduardo about his father, and now he's given you this prophecy." Egon had heard all about Patrick Fogg from Kylie.

"Pretty freaky coincidence," Garrett agreed. "Maybe we should Google him."

Egon blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's a search engine, Egon. On the Internet."

"Of course," Egon nodded. He knew that.

"In the meantime," continued Garrett, "maybe we should try and get to the bottom of Eduardo's problem. Perhaps Kylie can find something out."

"Why Kylie?"

Garrett shook his head despairingly. The old stereotype was certainly true of Dr. Egon Spengler. He was a genius: he had one of the finest brains in existence, and yet he seemed to be entirely clueless and unobservant when it came to real life.

"Here we go," announced Janine, with a faintly smug smile. "The Patrick Fogg Homepage. We've got an e-mail address for him, frequently asked questions, some parp about how he got his powers..."

With Egon, Roland and Garrett looking over shoulder, Janine clicked on a link, and seconds later her computer screen displayed a fair amount of prose entitled _"The Origins of Patrick's Gift"_.

"It says here he had his first experience with talking to dead people when he was seventeen," Janine reported. "He was visited by his dead grandmother, who he believes gave him his gift."

"So what?" Garrett asked, pulling a face. "He woke up and found he could talk to dead people?"

"Sounds like he's schizophrenic to me," opined Roland.

"Actually, Roland, there's a lot more to schizophrenia than just voices in the head," Egon said matter-of-factly. "Auditory hallucinations are just one of many possible symptoms."

"Never mind that," Garrett said dismissively. "What's the rest of the dirt on this Fogg guy? Is he some kind of super-villain or what?"

Kylie had walked in unnoticed, and was now listening from a good few yards behind them. Everyone jumped when she suddenly said, "Patrick Fogg is just a medium. He may be a fraud, or he may not, but he certainly doesn't mean any harm. What are you looking him up on the internet for?"

Garrett wheeled himself over to Kylie; Janine, Egon and Roland all politely took their leave. Clearly puzzled by this, Kylie raised a suspicious eyebrow and asked Garrett, "What's going on?"

"Seen Eduardo this morning?" Garrett asked.

"Yes," Kylie confirmed. "Just now. He looked awful. In fact when I left him he was chucking his guts all over the bathroom."

"Lovely. I really wanted to know that. Thanks."

"What does Eduardo being sick have to do with Patrick Fogg?"

"Well," was the best start Garrett could think of, and then he went on to tell his own story about Fogg. When he was finished, Kylie immediately started picking holes in the link Egon had spotted between Eduardo and the medium.

"You know plenty of people whose names begin with E," she pointed out. "And so do most people. He was just trying to con you."

"You may be right," Garrett conceded, "but Egon thought it was worth checking out. Eduardo is pretty sick," he added, "and it only started after his visit to Fogg."

"Maybe he's still upset," suggested Kylie. "He seems drained, that's all. That's what stress can do to you."

"Maybe. Ky, listen." This was a delicate subject, and Garrett knew he would have to approach it with care. "Egon and I were hoping maybe you could get Eduardo to tell you exactly what's wrong with him."

Immediately on the defensive, Kylie answered him with, "Why would he tell _me_? He's never told me anything before. He didn't tell me about his dead father, remember?"

"That's completely different," Garrett insisted. "Now he's sick. That isn't nearly so sensitive. We just want you to find out what's wrong, and maybe you can get him to see a doctor. You want to make sure he's ok, don't you?"

Kylie almost retorted that she didn't care whether Eduardo was ok or not. But in truth it was difficult not to worry about someone - anyone - who was sweating and throwing up as much as he was. So finally she relented.

As Eduardo plunged his head into a basin of cold water, it occurred to him that he had spent a lot of time doing this or something similar lately. His head was killing him: it wasn't a headache so much as he felt that he was on fire. His mouth was dry too, and whatever liquid he put into it seemed to evaporate instantly.

When he opened the bathroom door and ventured out onto the landing, Eduardo felt a child-like relief at seeing Kylie as she appeared at the top of the stairs. In that instant he just wanted her to hold him, cradle his head in her hands, simply because he knew it would make him feel ten times better.

"You look awful," she observed, as they approached one another.

"Thanks." The obvious answer would do.

"How do you feel?"

"Pretty crappy." As he talked, Eduardo made his way downstairs and Kylie followed. "But at least I got rid of the last of the puke."

"Charming," Kylie said. "Maybe you should see a doctor."

They descended into the sitting room, and Eduardo took a seat on the couch. He was tempted to take his t-shirt off, because he was feeling that unbearable heat again. But something told him that this might not be the best time to be partially undressed.

"I hate doctors," Eduardo muttered. He hoped Kylie wouldn't sit next to him and start radiating warmth, as people so annoyingly tended to do. Thankfully she selected an armchair to sit in.

"But you're sick," she argued.

"It's nothing. Just a fever or something. It'll pass."

"A fever?" She sounded genuinely concerned. "Do you feel hot or cold?"

"Hot," Eduardo replied at once. "Really hot. Sometimes it feels like parts of me are on fire."

With a frown Kylie asked, "Which parts?"

"Parts of my face mostly," Eduardo answered. "Just now it was my head. It's not that bad at the moment, but I feel hot all over. And you may have noticed I'm sweating quite a lot."

"I hadn't." She had. "That sounds horrible. Is there anything else?"

"Not really. My mouth is dry, and the throwing up, obviously. But mostly it's just this horrible, horrible heat," Eduardo said with feeling. "At first it was only coming on sometimes. I could feel it coming. It started here" - he put his hand on his abdomen - "and then it just spread all through my body. Now it's pretty much constant."

He looked at Kylie. She looked back, aghast. Her face told Eduardo that what he was saying horrified her. He wanted some other response, preferably oral; but got none, so he went on talking.

"I just want to stand under an ice-cold shower all day. My mouth feels like the Sahara, I'm drenched in my own sweat and I feel like I'm suffocating in my clothes."

"You have to go to a doctor," Kylie said at last.

"No I don't _have to_."

Annoyed by her sudden decision to give him orders, Eduardo dropped all pretence of courtesy and pulled his t-shirt off. Kylie's eyes widened at the sight of the perspiration literally rolling down his torso, like raindrops on a windowpane.

"There's something really wrong with you!" she insisted.

Eduardo visibly winced. The burning had started again, this time in his left temple. Noticing the flinch, Kylie moved to sit next to him on the sofa. No, Eduardo thought. Please go away. Her body heat increased his discomfort already.

"Where does it hurt?" Kylie asked softly.

"Nowhere," Eduardo said unconvincingly, and the lie was not helped by the reflexive move of his hand to the hot spot on his head. Gently Kylie removed his hand and ran her own fingers over the tight skin on the forehead.

"That doesn't help, Ky," Eduardo said irritably, though in truth he felt comforted by her touch.

"This is ridiculous," Kylie said firmly, suddenly standing and making for the nearest PKE meter. "You're really sick, and I don't think this is any ordinary fever."

A slight blip on the PKE meter confirmed Kylie's suspicions. She didn't know what could be wrong with Eduardo. Some kind of possession, maybe. Or perhaps he had picked up something nasty from one of the spooks they had dealt with recently. But whatever it was, she was going to get to the bottom of it.

Eduardo's head was in his hands, and his stomach muscles rippled with the effort to keep the pain under control. Kylie felt a sudden urge to take him in her arms and tell him everything was going to be fine, he looked so vulnerable. Furthermore she found that she was quite unable to fight this urge, and so she sat back down next to Eduardo and wrapped her slender arms around his shoulders.

"You feel cold," she said quietly. "Cold and clammy."

"It's the sweat, that's what sweat feels like," Eduardo said, through clenched teeth. Then suddenly he sat up straight, forcing Kylie to let go of him, and added, "I'm ok now. It's passed."

"It'll come back," Kylie reminded him, putting her hand to where the pain had been on Eduardo's forehead and stroking gently. "We'd better get Egon to take a look at you. I hate seeing you like this."

"It's funny," Eduardo half-laughed. "This heat I keep feeling. It's almost like what Lisa said would happen to me if I - "

To Kylie's immense frustration, he stopped short. Then he looked away from her, flicking away the hand that was nursing him with an abrupt gesture of the head.

"If you what?" Kylie asked cautiously.

"Nothing," Eduardo muttered. "Forget it."

"Eduardo, please talk to me," begged Kylie. "Who's Lisa?"

"No one."

"But - "

"Jeez, Kylie, would you just drop it?" Eduardo suddenly ejaculated, leaping to his feet and taking several steps back from where Kylie sat dumbfounded. "I don't want to talk about it! Stop pushing!"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to push. It's just that I'm worried about you."

This was as close as Eduardo had ever allowed anyone to get, but the intimacy was suddenly shattered by the loud peal of the alarm bell. Hurriedly Kylie got to her feet and made for the pole. Eduardo was about to follow, feeling better now that the blazing heat had subsided a little.

"You stay here," Kylie ordered him. "Try to get some sleep. Or better yet, get Egon to take a look at you."

x x x

"It's some kind of demon, Egon thinks," said Janine's voice from the carradio. "The youth club manager said it was humanoid, but it looked like some kind of monster."

"Is she sure it's not just some stupid kid in a mask?" Garrett asked sceptically. He sat in the back seat of the Ecto-1, which was speeding through the streets of Manhattan with Roland at the wheel and Kylie sitting to his right.

"Apparently it has glowing yellow eyes and incredible strength," Janine returned. "She said it threw some of the kids out onto the street and started playing pool."

Garrett suppressed a laugh. Kylie, on the other hand, was in no mood for laughing. She was still trying to figure out who Lisa might be.

"How's Eduardo?" she asked Janine. "Has Egon looked at him yet?"

"Eduardo? No." Janine sounded puzzled. "He just went home."

"He did WHAT?" Kylie ejaculated, the forcefulness of her outburst making Roland lose control of the car for a split second.

"Calm down," Janine tried to pacify her. "He's sick. It probably wasn't a bad idea for him to go home."

"But... but," Kylie stammered. "He was getting a PKE reading! Didn't he tell you?" she squeaked incredulously.

"Um... no," Janine admitted. "Wow. Maybe I should give him a call."

"Don't worry," said Kylie, in a very off tone. "I'll do it when I get home."

Roland brought the Ecto-1 to a stop outside the Jamie Latham Youth Club. None of the Ghostbusters had known who Jamie Latham was, until Casey Jackson had knowingly informed his brother that he was some kind of aspiring rock star who had died young of cancer. In the moment it took to vacate the car, Garrett thought about founding a youth club and naming it after Emma.

All the youth of the club had apparently gone home, or at least somewhere else they could play pool and buy cheap cola. Either way they were no longer there, so the Ghostbusters found the meagre but lovingly decorated old warehouse empty save for a lot of turned-over tables and chairs, a jukebox that looked to be a write-off and, as promised, a demon playing pool.

They were about to attack, but were interrupted by a young redheaded woman in tight jeans and a most unattractive camel-coloured sweater. This, presumably, was Linda Higgins, the youth club's manager.

"Thank God you're here," the woman wheezed, silver bangles clanging as she tried to steady her breathing. "What is that?"

"It's just a class three," Garrett replied dismissively, as he took the creature's PKE readings. "If you'd like to step outside now, ma'am, we'll soon take care of it."

Roland smiled politely as Linda Higgins vacated the premises. The demon, he noticed, was like nothing they had seen before. It was wolf-like in appearance, and for some reason was wearing leathers. Taken out of context, Roland would have said the creature was a werewolf. But werewolves didn't do this, surely. And besides, it was early afternoon, and the night before there had been a crescent moon.

Whatever the demon was, it apparently liked to play pool in peace. By now it had spotted the Ghostbusters, and was advancing upon them with white foam dripping from razor sharp fangs. Never one to waste time, Garrett gave the usual signal: "On three."

"Three!"

Garrett and Roland caught the angry beast in their proton streams, and Kylie positioned the trap. Moments later the creature was sucked into the trap, and Kylie closed the device with a satisfied smile.

"Nice to get an easy one occasionally," observed Garrett, as Kylie went to retrieve the trap.

The three Ghostbusters wandered outside, where Linda Higgins was twittering beside a Dumpster. As Kylie and Garrett loaded the equipment back into the Ecto-1, Roland went to assure the young woman that her youth club was now a demon-free zone, and that she would be receiving an invoice for their services shortly.

"Roland, can you take me to college?" Kylie asked, once they were all loaded into the Ecto-1. "I have a class."

Roland glanced at his wristwatch. It was nearly half past two. He could get Kylie to college in time for the last class of the day, if he drove like Michael Schumacher. "You'll be late," he pointed out.

"Not if you step on it," Kylie hinted heavily.

"You should have told me," Roland went on. "I would have dropped you off on the way."

"Don't be stupid," scolded Kylie. "You might have needed me. With Eduardo off sick I can't go gallivanting off to college and leaving you two on your own. Besides," she added, with a frown at the car's speedometer. "There's plenty of time, as long as you're not planning to drive like my granny all the way. Garrett?"

Garrett started at the sudden mention of his name. "Um... yes?" he said.

"Tell me something," Kylie went on. "Why exactly did you go to see Patrick Fogg?"

"Because I wanted to try and get hold of Emma," Garrett replied. "I thought I told you that."

"You did," Kylie said, "but why? What did you want to say to her?"

"Well... nothing, really," Garrett confessed. "I just wanted to know how she was doing, see if she was ok. We've seen so many miserable ghosts in our time. What if something like that happened to her?"

"Something like what?" Roland asked.

"Yeah," Kylie added, somewhat unnecessarily. "Something like what?"

"Well like... like the house with all those trapped souls in it."

"But Emma died in a hospital bed," Kylie pointed out, "not a haunted house."

"I know," Garrett returned irritably. "I don't mean specifically that. Just something _like _that. I mean, what about Casper?"

"Casper's not real," Kylie pointed out.

"And he wasn't unhappy," Roland added.

"He was in the bit I saw," Garrett retorted. "He was remembering to Christina Ricci how he died."

"I never did see the beginning of that movie," mused Roland. "Whenever my brother watches it, I can't seem to walk in before the part where they're trying to get rid of the ghosts..."

"Look, just forget about Casper," Garrett said irritably. "I just mean..."

"It's ok," Kylie said gently, to save him the trouble of trying to explain. "I know what you mean."

Kylie walked into her psychology lecture five minutes late. Fortunately Professor Hughes arrived ten minutes late, so she didn't miss anything. The lecture was about stress. It made Kylie think again about her idea that Eduardo was under some kind of terrible stress. Maybe he was having problems with his brother again. That, she knew, was the status quo; but presumably things between Eduardo and Carl were worse at some times than at others. But of course that didn't explain the PKE reading she had got from him.

She got home at four thirty-five almost exactly. She really didn't feel like going back to the Firehouse now. If they got a call, Janine could ring her or the guys could go without her. But then two calls in one day was uncommon. Kylie thought she would probably be ok staying at home for the evening.

Pagan started yowling for his supper. Just to shut him up Kylie shook a few little fish-shaped biscuits into a saucer. Then she kicked off her boots, picked up the phone and punched out Eduardo's number.

"Hello?" came an almost inaudible croak from the earpiece.

"You sound terrible," Kylie frowned. She took the cordless phone into the bathroom and positioned herself in front of the mirror, where she began removing her make-up. Her face, she realised, felt heavy; her skin seemed to be suffocating. But then that, she supposed, was the price of plastering oneself in cosmetics.

"I just need to drink something," Eduardo returned, and moments later Kylie heard the sound of a tap running. "You woke me."

"Oh. Sorry. How do you feel?"

"Terrible." He paused to take a swig of water. "My mouth feels like it's on fire. Kinda reminds me of the time I ate three vindaloos in a row."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I was young and stupid, I guess."

"Why the hell didn't you get Egon to take a look at you like I told you to?" Kylie suddenly demanded.

"Because," Eduardo replied evenly, "I don't have to do what you tell me. Like I said, I felt better. I thought if I went home and got some sleep I'd be ok."

"But now you feel worse."

"Well... yes."

"Are you still giving off psycho-kinetic energy?"

"Oh, I don't know," Eduardo said wearily. "Please. I just want to sleep."

"Ok, fine," Kylie frowned, looking at her naked face in the mirror and realising that she looked completely different now. "I... hope you feel better."

"Thanks," Eduardo muttered, before hanging up without even a goodbye. Well, wasn't that just him all over.

Kylie padded barefoot into her bedroom, put the phone down and made herself comfortable on the bed. Pagan walked in, licking his chops and looking very pleased with himself, and settled himself down next to her. Kylie scratched his ears as she picked up the book she was reading. She was really enjoying it too. It was the kind of book that really inspired you to care about the characters.

Kylie was unsure whether to admire the heroine for being everything she herself wanted to be, or to hate her for that very same reason. This infinitely annoying woman's only fault was her total lack of sensitivity towards the truly wonderful love interest the writer had so kindly given her. He was handsome, charming in his own way and extremely loveable. So what was this bitch's problem? If you don't want him, Kylie thought dryly, I'll have him. She so wished she could dive into the story, steal the hero's heart and leave the ungrateful heroine to realise too late that she had actually loved him all along.

Barely two pages read, and there came a knock at the door. Kylie and Pagan were equally put out: he had been drifting off to sleep; and she had been about to delight in some truly wonderful images of the novel's hero in the shower, enjoying the moments of equilibrium before the insane killer burst through the bathroom window brandishing a kitchen knife. If there was one thing worse than running from a murderer, Kylie mused - as she climbed reluctantly from the bed - it was running from a murderer whilst naked. But at least in this case the annoying prima donna might finally see what she was missing. Surely, Kylie thought, she was bound to turn up in the scene where the guy was naked and vulnerable. Damn, she really wanted to read that book.

But she was at the door now, so she might as well open it. With no make-up, tousled hair and tired eyes, Kylie hoped it wasn't someone she only wanted to see at her best.

It wasn't.

"Holy shh...shoot!" she cried out in surprise, not wanting to swear in front of a virtual stranger. "What are you doing here?"

"I - I'm sorry," Patrick Fogg stammered. "This is a little hard to explain. Do I know you?"

"Well," Kylie said, "kind of. I've been to a couple of your seminars. You gave me a reading about my great-grandmother."

"Wait a minute." Fogg squinted at Kylie's face, making her feel slightly uncomfortable. "Are you the girl who yelled at me? You had a friend that was heckling me."

"That's me," nodded Kylie. "Um... sorry about that. The yelling and the heckling, I mean."

"Hey, don't worry about it. I remembered you, you know. Both of you. I just didn't recognise you without your make-up."

Kylie put a hand self-consciously to her face. She hated people who made personal remarks. With a challenging tone to her voice she asked again, "So what are you doing here?"

"Um... this is going to be hard to explain," Fogg replied. "I've had a visit. I think it was from your great-grandmother again. Rose, wasn't it?"

Gosh, he really did remember her. "Ye-es," Kylie replied cautiously.

"She told me to get in my car and drive, and I've ended up here. There was a light over your door. I guess Rose wants me to come and talk to you."

"About what?" Kylie couldn't help but ask, though she was tempted to threaten this guy with the police.

"I don't know. She's not being very clear."

"That's your fault, not hers," Kylie said flatly.

"Right. Wait a minute, she's trying to tell me something." Fogg really seemed to be concentrating. This, Kylie thought, had to be for real. This time he had actually knocked on her door without even knowing who she was.

"By any chance," Fogg went on, "do you have a friend in a wheelchair? A young man?"

Kylie caught her breath. "Yes," she managed to answer.

"It's the guy that came to see me yesterday morning. You know, he got me into trouble with my wife."

"Really?"

"She didn't know I was a medium," Fogg explained.

"Oh." What the hell was she supposed to say to that? "Sorry."

"She's a grief counsellor, you see, and she doesn't approve of me telling people I can communicate with their dead relatives. But the thing is, I really can. Do... you believe that?" he asked slowly.

"I'm not sure." Kylie folded her arms across her chest and leant against the doorframe. "What else is Grandma Rose telling you?"

"It must have been her," mused Fogg, "that wanted to warn your friend about the letter E. I'm getting it again now."

"The letter E?"

"Yes."

"We know two people whose names begin with E," Kylie told him, though she was still on the defensive. "And Garrett - that's my friend who went to see you - knew someone called Emma who died recently."

Fogg shook his head. "I don't think it's her. It's somebody who's alive, and there's something wrong."

Pagan had appeared at Kylie's feet, and was now hissing at Fogg. Maybe he sensed Kylie's uncertainty about her visitor. She stooped and gathered the cat into her arms. He held still in her familiar hold, but still stared menacingly at the stranger, ears down in a gesture of sheer hostility.

"She's adamant about getting this message to you," Fogg continued, "but I don't know what she's trying to say. Do you trust me?"

"Not enough to invite you in," Kylie replied, "and I trust my cat enough to know that there's something not quite right about you. He's a very good judge of character."

"Cats are supposed to have psychic abilities. Maybe he can sense my gift."

"I can't ignore this, though," said Kylie, thinking of Eduardo. Maybe Rose was trying to get a message to her about him. "Do you know where the Ghostbusters' headquarters is?"

"Oh yes," Fogg nodded. "It's a thumping great Firehouse with a big fat sign saying 'Ghostbusters' outside. You can't miss it."

"I want you to go there tomorrow morning, around nine," Kylie instructed him. "Then we can all look into this."

"Are you a Ghostbuster, then?" asked Fogg.

"Yes."

Pagan hissed, and Kylie stroked him to try and calm him down.

"Will you be there?" she asked.

"Sure," Fogg shrugged. "If it'll stop this woman from bothering me."

"Great. See you tomorrow."

Kylie shut the door and carried Pagan back to their bed. He gave her a questioning look, as though he had understood the words that had passed between her and Fogg, before stretching extravagantly and settling down to sleep. As for Kylie, she knew that the only way to stop thinking about the whole Patrick Fogg/Eduardo/Grandma Rose thing was to read the book she was enjoying so much. So she fluffed up her pillows, collapsed into them, tucked her feet underneath her and picked up the worn paperback.

x x x

Eduardo's eyes snapped open in response to the deafening ringing inside his head. Still naked, apart from the earrings he had neglected to remove, he was lying in a puddle of his own sweat. His eyes, ears and throat burned ten times worse than anything he had felt these last few days. Why oh why hadn't he listened to Kylie?

It was then that he realised the ringing sound in his head was actually the phone. Desperate to make the unbearable noise stop, he reached out and knocked the receiver to the floor. It took him a few moments to recover, before sinking to the ground and picking the wretched thing up.

"Hello?" It was Kylie, her voice filled with anxiety. "Eduardo, is that you? Are you ok?"

"No," Eduardo managed to croak.

"Oh my God, you sound awful! What's wrong?"

"I... I..."

But Eduardo could say no more. Before the phone fell from his slippery grasp he managed to hear Kylie saying, in urgent tones, "Don't move. I'm coming straight over."

For what felt like an age, Eduardo just sat on the floor, slumped against the bed. This did nothing to help the perspiration on his back, but he just couldn't bring himself to move. Then suddenly he heard the familiar sound of the Ecto-1's siren that signified Kylie's arrival. She must have put the siren on just for him. She'd better hope the mayor didn't find out about that.

Thinking quickly and summoning what strength he had, Eduardo crawled to the bathroom and clambered into yesterday's jeans. It was here that Kylie found him, just sitting in the middle of the bathroom floor.

"Oh God." If Kylie could possibly go paler than she already was, she did it now. She ran to Eduardo and dropped to her knees beside him, crying desperately, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Eduardo tried to speak but couldn't. Kylie put her palm on his shoulder, and it almost burned her. Hurriedly she got to her feet, ran to the basin and filled the glass on the windowsill with cold water.

"Here," she said, taking Eduardo's chin in one hand, and feeding him the water with the other. "Don't try to speak."

Several minutes passed before Kylie helped Eduardo to his feet and led him to his bed. The sheets and pillows were in a terrible mess, but neither one of them noticed. Kylie sat next to Eduardo while he stared into space, trying to regain his composure. Finally his chest stopped heaving, the sweat subsided so it no longer flowed like a waterfall, and he was able to look at his saviour with weary eyes.

"What's happening to me?" Eduardo asked.

"You can speak," Kylie sighed. "Thank God. Um... I don't know. If I knew what was wrong then I'd help you."

"You just did," Eduardo pointed out.

He had noticed a pattern in this bizarre illness. He always felt at his worst when he was on his own. On occasions when he actually began to feel better, he had been with Kylie.

"Eduardo," ventured Kylie, "do you think you feel up to moving? I want to take you to the Firehouse." She paused and then added quietly, "Patrick Fogg should be there."

"Patrick Fogg? Ow!"

Kylie wondered if it really was Fogg's name that triggered Eduardo to clutch a hand to his chest. His face contorted with pain, and for a horrible moment she got a bizarre feeling that he was going to drop down dead. However he managed to calm himself, and then say again in choked, incredulous tones, "Patrick Fogg?"

"I know it sounds crazy," Kylie said, "but he may be able to help you. Do you think you're up to the trip?"

"Sure," Eduardo rasped, getting unsteadily to his feet. "But Kylie... Patrick Fogg?"

"I'll explain on the way," Kylie promised, as she led him to his front door.

x x x

Polite and mild-mannered by day, Lisa Fogg was a total bitch in the mornings. And the earlier it was, the bitchier she was. Woken unexpectedly at eight o'clock, she let out a noise of frustration, shot out her arm and punched the alarm clock to the floor, shattering the mechanics of the device entirely.

"What the hell did you set the alarm for?" she yelled at her husband, as he clambered out of bed and made for the bathroom. "It's Saturday morning!"

"I know," Patrick replied patiently. "You go back to sleep. I have to go out."

"Out where?" Lisa murmured into her pillow.

Patrick wondered how his wife would react if he told her he had an appointment with a beautiful girl of Audrey Hepburn proportions who, from the look of her, couldn't be older than twenty. It was the entirely innocent truth, of course, but Lisa might not think so.

"I've got an appointment!" he called to her, over the buzz of his electric razor.

"God, Patrick, do you have to do that now? I'm trying to sleep!"

Oh well, at least in Bitch Mode Lisa was generally too tired to ask awkward questions. Once dressed, Patrick made the gesture of kissing his wife on the forehead, and then grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl before heading straight out of the front door.

Ghostbusters HQ. Interesting rendezvous. He felt that the woman presumed to be Rose was with him again. What the hell was going on here? Patrick hoped that on walking into that Firehouse across the street, he would find out.

The receptionist looked harmless enough: a thirty-something woman with red hair and glasses. As Patrick approached her she smiled warmly, at once making him feel at ease.

"Can I help you?" Janine asked politely.

"I don't know," Patrick frowned. What exactly was he supposed to do now he was here? "I made an appointment yesterday."

"With whom?" Janine looked puzzled.

"With a girl. Skinny little thing with black hair."

"Oh." Janine's expression cleared. "You mean Kylie. You're Patrick Fogg, right?"

"Right."

"Kylie called me last night and warned me you'd be coming. Now, what is this about?"

"I... I'm not sure," Patrick stammered. "You know I'm a medium? Well, there's this dead lady who keeps talking to me. She's got some kind of problem and last night she sent me to this girl Kylie's home."

"Oh." Well, there really was no answer to that.

"I was hoping we might be able to figure this thing out," Patrick continued, "and she - Kylie, I mean - told me to come here at nine o'clock. Um... I'm five minutes late," he added. "Sorry."

"That's ok," Janine said. "Kylie was here half an hour ago, but she disappeared with the Ecto-1 and hasn't come back yet."

"The Ecto-1?" Patrick frowned.

"The Ghostbusters' car."

"Oh."

Egon was forced to make small talk with Patrick in the Firehouse foyer until the Ghostbusters arrived. Aside from the weather and the state of the subway, they mostly talked about Patrick's "gift". He insisted it was genuine, and Egon believed him, simply because he had faith in humankind and saw no reason why this perfectly nice man should lie to him.

"Would you mind," Egon ventured, "if I did a PKE scan on you?"

"Depends," Patrick said cautiously. "What's a PKE scan?"

Anyone who knew Egon wouldn't have been surprised that this question triggered a lengthy explanation of how ghosts, paranormal activity, psychokinetic energy and the meters themselves all worked. But Patrick didn't know Egon, and he was at a complete loss as to know what to say, if indeed he was supposed to say anything. All he could do was sit and nod passively until Roland and Garrett arrived in Roland's Mustang.

"You?" Garrett gave Patrick a puzzled and disapproving frown. "What are you doing here?"

Egon stopped talking, and Patrick was at a loss for words. This was the second person to ask him that question in the space of about seventeen hours, and still he had no answer. Fortunately he was rescued when the Ecto-1 screeched to a halt just yards away from him, almost knocking him down.

"Oh good, you're here," Kylie said breathlessly, jumping out of the hearse and then running round to open the passenger door. She stooped and asked the figure in the car, "Are you ok? How are you feeling?"

"Not so bad."

As Eduardo spoke he climbed out of the car, sounding almost normal. He still didn't look quite himself, everyone noticed. Everyone but Patrick, who had met him once, very briefly, several days ago.

But apparently it was too much to hope that Eduardo was over his strange illness. He turned, took one look at Patrick and announced, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Everyone watched, baffled, as Eduardo ran into the main building. Then all eyes turned to Patrick. "Why are you all looking at me?" he said defensively. "It's not my fault he's sick."

"Do you remember him?" Kylie asked.

"Sure," Patrick replied. "He's your heckler friend."

"I apologised for that," Kylie reminded him.

"Excuse me," Roland ventured, "but what is going on here?"

"That's a very good question," Egon put in. Then looking from Kylie to Patrick he added, "Perhaps one of you would care to explain?"

"It's this kid's great-grandmother," Patrick said, jerking a thumb towards Kylie. "She won't stop bothering me. It's this person whose name begins with E. But I don't know why I had to come here."

"Is she here now?" Garrett asked suspiciously.

"Who?" returned Patrick.

Garrett rolled his eyes. "Queen Victoria," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Then, "Kylie's Grandma Rose! Who do you think?"

It was then that Eduardo returned, still looking pale and drained. Kylie's green eyes found his, burning red in the shadowy hollows of their sockets, and she asked, "Are you ok now, Eduardo?"

"Your name's Eduardo?" ventured Patrick. "Well it's him then, duh!"

"What are you talking about?" Eduardo challenged. "What are you even doing here?" He had found Kylie's explanation somewhat unsatisfactory.

"Good question." Patrick turned on Kylie, and Eduardo immediately readied himself to leap to her defence if necessary. "Why did you bring me here? Your grandmother wants you to help him. Surely you could have figured that out from what I said."

"Ok," Kylie returned, "but we don't know what's wrong with him. Answer that, mister medium."

"Kylie," Eduardo said quietly. "I thought we'd established this guy was a fraud."

"But I'm not a fraud," Patrick defended himself. "Kylie's great-grandmother is here, and she's telling me to tell her to help you."

"What about all that stuff with Eduardo's father?" Garrett ventured to ask. "Was that for real?"

"Um... well, no," Patrick confessed. To Eduardo he said, "I just did it to spook you. I guess it was a pretty rotten thing to do. Sorry."

Eduardo shrugged and said, "Sorry I heckled you."

"It was the first time I ever made anything up," Patrick went on hastily. "Kylie, I really did get in touch with your grandmother, and now she won't leave me alone."

"Can you get her to tell you what's wrong with him?" Kylie asked. "It's not like I haven't been trying to help him, but nothing's working."

"Sure it is," Eduardo said quietly.

Kylie turned to look at him in surprise. Finally she said, "What?"

"You remember the state I was in first thing this morning," Eduardo continued. "You gave me a glass of water and pulled me off the floor and I felt better."

"Egon."

It was Roland who spoke. He was holding his PKE meter close to Patrick's back, and frowning at it the way he did when he was deep in thought.

"Oh my," Egon said, looking over Roland's shoulder.

"Hey." Patrick turned round and then took a step back. "What are you doing?"

"Mr. Fogg," Egon began, "you are giving off a fairly strong PKE reading."

"It's not all that strong," Roland put in, "but it's way more than a human should be giving off."

"Which is nothing," Garrett added helpfully.

"So... what?" asked Patrick.

"Well." Egon furrowed his brow in thought, and took a few moments before continuing. "This gift of yours. I think it's stronger than you realise. I think you have psychic abilities you don't even know about."

Patrick looked blank. He didn't know Egon, and he didn't know how to react to what he said. He did know, however, that Rose was telling him to listen to this guy.

"In fact," Egon went on, "I think you may be responsible for Eduardo's condition."

"I am not!" Patrick objected.

"Yes," Egon said evenly, "you are. When he heckled you at your seminar, I expect that made you a little angry."

Patrick pulled a face, as a reaction to the bizarre situation he was in, as well as the memory of how angry Eduardo really had made him that night. "Sure," he said.

"So you told him you were in contact with his dead father to spook him."

"Yes," Patrick confirmed.

"Well." Egon's expression remained emotionless all the time he spoke. "I think you did a lot more than spook him. I think you were so angry with him that your desire to hurt him emotionally also resulted in a physical manifestation."

"I told him not to heckle," Kylie muttered.

"I'm sorry," said Patrick. "I can't believe all this. But..."

"But what?" demanded Kylie.

"Your Grandma Rose is still here, telling me it's all true. But how could she possibly know all that?"

"Maybe," Roland said slowly, "we could talk to Rose directly."

"What?" Kylie looked up, her eyes wide and her voice filled with urgency. "How?"

"Well, we know she's here," Roland explained. "I see no reason why we can't bring her to the physical plane with Egon's mass-maker gloves."

That was enough for Kylie. She dashed towards the door to the main building, pushing it open with the force of her entire body and then disappearing through it. The group of men watched her with interest, and then Roland turned back to Egon and asked, "Will that work?"

"It should do," Egon said gravely. "If Rose is here - "

"She is," Patrick muttered wearily.

"If Rose is here," Egon said again, "and she can hear us, all she needs to do is pass through the force field generated by the gloves. Then she should take corporeal form."

Kylie returned more quickly than any of them would have believed possible, and had the gloves activated within seconds. Patrick stared at the gloves in awe; they seemed to be a pair of gauntlets, made of metal, with all sorts of bizarre gadgets attached. When Kylie put her knuckles together, the gloves emitted some kind of force field: bright yellow fingers of light zigzagging between the girl's hands.

They had to be uncomfortable, surely. They made a most unnerving crackling sound. Kylie's pale face was bathed in blinding light, and the force she was wielding sent her long black hair billowing out behind her.

"Come on, Grandma Rose, come on," Kylie urged her great-grandmother's ghost, through gritted teeth.

Eduardo shook his head. It wasn't going to happen. And when Kylie realised this, she would be crushed. He suspected that she had realised it already, but still she held her position, the desperation in her face illuminated by the gloves' force field.

Then, finally, she gave up. Kylie deactivated the gloves; they dropped to the floor and she kicked them across the room in a gesture of frustration. She said nothing, and with her painted black lips pursed in apparent listlessness, her face gave away nothing. Eduardo stared at her, trying to see past the thick lashes into her soulful green eyes. Her face was a plaster cast. Here was someone who literally wore a mask, and now she was actually using it to hide.

"Hey," Eduardo said gently, approaching Kylie and putting a hand on her shoulder.

Kylie took a deep breath and said, "Guess she's not here."

Patrick knew better than that, but he also knew better than to say as much.

At last Kylie was able to bring herself to look at something other than the ground. She turned to Eduardo and asked, with genuine concern, "What about you? Do you feel any better?"

"Not really," Eduardo replied, "but now I've got some idea of what's wrong, I think I might know what to do."

"Really?" Roland looked puzzled. If he hadn't figured out what to do next, how could Eduardo have done it? "What?"

"I think I just have to, uh..." For some reason Eduardo looked down at his feet. "Channel my grief."

Suddenly Patrick looked up, alert, as if in amazement. With a piercing stare at Eduardo he repeated incredulously, "Channel your grief?"

x x x

_Alberto Juan Rivera_

_March 1938 - July 1990_

_Devoted husband and father_

_Died serving his country_

"_His_ country," Eduardo fairly spat. "Whatever."

Fists bunched into his pockets, Eduardo stepped back from the headstone that he hadn't set eyes on in at least five years. Carl was constantly deriding him for it, but Eduardo maintained that he didn't have to stare at some cold, lifeless piece of stone to remember their father.

And besides, the epitaph pissed him off.

Despite all this, however, Eduardo actually felt better, if not for the visit to his father, then for the walk through the graveyard. It was quite a nice place really, if you didn't think about what it actually was, and what all the very pretty ornaments adorning the pathways actually meant.

Walking through the children's section of the graveyard was one way to spoil a perfectly nice day. It was too upsetting, so as he approached the tragically small graves, Eduardo veered off to the left. Then he stopped short, muttering an obscenity as he heard a familiar voice call, "Eddie!"

"My name's Eduardo," he snapped, continuing to walk as Garrett pulled up beside him.

"Whoa," said Garrett. "Where'd that come from? I always call you Eddie. You know," he added, "for short."

"Yeah, well don't," Eduardo muttered, knowing full well that he would be Eddie to Garrett again in a matter of hours, if not minutes. "I am so sick of everyone Americanising my name."

"What do you mean everyone? I thought it was just me."

"And Carlos."

"Oh."

"I mean, what's so wrong with being from Mexico?" Eduardo said with feeling. "Why do they want to hide it by changing our names? Eddie, Carl, Al..."

"Who's Al?" As if he had to ask.

"No one," Eduardo muttered. "So what are you doing here anyway?"

"Visiting Emma," Garrett replied, the perk in his voice instantly disappearing.

"Oh. Channelling your grief, huh?"

"Am I?"

"I don't know," Eduardo shrugged. "I never did understand what that meant. But I do actually feel a little better for coming here. How about you?"

"Not really," said Garrett. "I still want to find out if she's ok."

"Maybe you should see Patrick Fogg."

"No way. Even I've had enough of that guy, and I only met him twice. And how do I know he won't curse me as well...? But if I did want to see him, here's the next best thing," Garrett added, as Lisa Fogg approached them. She had just left two young women by one of the graves, and now she looked up at the pair she approached with recognition on her face.

Eduardo stared, open-mouthed, as Lisa walked towards them. Garrett was about to say a polite hello, but Eduardo got there first:

"_You_?!"

"Eduardo Rivera? It is you, isn't it?"

"What?" Garrett muttered to himself. "Oh, now this is just getting silly."

"Yeah it's me," Eduardo said defensively, folding his arms across his chest, erecting the metaphorical wall between himself and Lisa.

"Good Lord," the woman went on, shaking her head with disbelief. "How long has it been?"

"Seven years," Eduardo replied quickly. He had been twelve the last time he saw her, and even he could subtract twelve from nineteen fairly speedily.

"Seven years," Lisa repeated, with a note of disbelief. "Has it really been that long? So how have you been coping?"

"Fine."

"That's what you said seven years ago."

"Yeah. Well. I was coping fine then, and I'm coping fine now. I might even go so far as to say I'm coping better without you."

"Oh Eduardo." Lisa shook her head patronisingly, and for a split second Eduardo was transported back in time to 1991. "Still not opening up, I see. Did you ever take my advice?"

"How could I? I didn't understand what the hell you were talking about," Eduardo shot back. "Like I said at the time, grief is not the Suez Canal."

"What?" Garrett suddenly said. This earned him a strange look from Lisa, and then she asked, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"Yes," Garrett answered. "I, uh, paid your husband a visit the other day."

That's right," Lisa nodded. "Boy was I mad at him when I found out he was still working as a medium. Working in a bar my ass!"

"Well... we'd better be going," Garrett said, with a polite smile.

"Me too," said Lisa. She nodded towards the two girls she had been with and said, "I'm working."

"Who is it?" Eduardo asked.

"Their mother."

"Bummer. Poor them. Well." Eduardo walked past her without a second glance. "See ya."

"So what did you mean by that?" Garrett asked Eduardo, once Lisa was out of earshot. "Grief is not the Suez Canal. What does that mean?"

He waited for an answer, but didn't even get a "Shut up, man."

"Come on, Eddie, tell me," Garrett persisted. "What does the Suez Canal have to do with anything? And who is she to you, anyway?"

"Oh man!" Eduardo suddenly exploded. "Would you just shut up?!"

Close enough. Garrett smiled to himself. Whatever spiritual self-realisation Eduardo had just gone through, it must have done the trick. Eddie was back, sulky, unpleasant and hostile as ever.

x x x

Eduardo wasn't sure he liked being back to normal. Trying to sleep on the sofa in the Firehouse at one o'clock in the morning, he reflected as much. Ok, so the sweating, the vomiting, the headaches and the impossible emotional strain had stopped. But so had Kylie's kindness and concern towards him. Once again she was treating him like an annoying child.

Thinking about Kylie sometimes helped Eduardo sleep, because thinking about Kylie sometimes made him feel calm, happy and keen to get into a vivid dream. At other times, like this, thinking about Kylie made his brain ache, his heart rate escalate and his eyes seem to weld themselves open.

Get to sleep, get to sleep, get to sleep... Eduardo scolded himself continuously, but it didn't do the slightest bit of good. At least close your eyes, he thought to himself; but he couldn't even do that. Then he realised that he was going to have to get up to go to the bathroom, in which case he may as well turn on the light and order a pizza when he came back.

The pizza idea never came through. On returning to the sitting room from the bathroom, Eduardo's attention was grabbed by the mass-maker gloves, which lay on the coffee table. Their presence puzzled him for two reasons: he didn't remember them being there before; and he wouldn't have thought Egon would put them there in the first place.

He supposed Slimer must have been fiddling. It was a more than likely explanation, in which case why was he finding the wretched things so damn hard to ignore? Something in the back of his mind - perhaps a repressed childhood tendency to fiddle with unusual or interesting objects - prompted him to slip his hands into the gloves and activate them. He knew it was probably a bad idea, because he knew that by doing this he could allow any bizarre creatures passage to the physical plane. But he felt he just... had to.

There was an explosion of light. Eduardo deactivated the gloves, and found himself staring into the face of an elderly woman.

"Rose?" He simply could not believe it.

"Ah," the old lady smiled. "So you do recognise me."

"You've got Kylie's eyes."

He didn't mean to say it. He wasn't even conscious that he had noticed Kylie's eyes before. But out it came, and a smile spread across Rose's translucent, ghostly lips.

"Thank you," she said. "Kylie has nice eyes."

"Nice? They're beautiful."

Ok, where did that come from?

"She is beautiful," Rose agreed, taking a seat on the sofa and inviting Eduardo to join her. "But then I don't need to tell you that."

"What are you doing here?" Eduardo asked.

"I just wanted to talk to you. Make sure you're really all right. I was hoping you might talk to Kylie. But it doesn't look like that's going to happen any time soon."

"She doesn't want to talk to me," Eduardo returned bitterly.

"But she does," Rose insisted. "Or at least she did. I tried to tell you so when I visited you in your bathroom that night. The mirror," she added. "I hoped it might enable me to talk to you. But after you turned round and broke eye contact, I couldn't come back."

"Um... sorry."

Eduardo cast his mind back that unpleasant night. He seemed to remember that, when Rose had visited him, he had been in something of a state of undress.

"Oh, that's all right," Rose chuckled. "You weren't to know."

This, Eduardo thought, is completely bizarre. Here he was, in the Firehouse in the middle of the night, talking to Kylie's dead great-grandmother as though it was the most natural thing in the world. And what's more, he liked her. He found that he was talking quite freely to her, feeling totally at ease. It really was too bad he couldn't have known her when she was alive.

"She still wants to talk to you about this," the ghost continued, "but she fools herself and everybody else that she doesn't. Just because you don't have six PhDs and your own scientific theory, she thinks you're not right for her. And even if she realises she's wrong, she won't admit it even to herself. That girl has always been headstrong. But then," she added with a sly smile, "that's one of the things I love about her. I expect you feel the same."

Eduardo said nothing. This woman was a ghost, and he thought his secrets were probably safe with her, but still he didn't feel like disclosing any of them.

"Oh, come on," Rose smiled. "You can tell me. You love her, don't you?"

Eduardo looked into the old lady's eyes. They were like Kylie's, with one notable difference: the kindness shone from them, clear and bright, while Kylie hid hers in a mask of defiance and heavy mascara.

"Honestly?" Eduardo said, with a half-smile. "I love her so much it physically hurts."

"I thought as much," Rose nodded. "Don't give up. I know her better than anyone, and I'm sure she'll see sense eventually."

"Can you stay?" asked Eduardo, enjoying the encouragement he was getting. "Do you have to... be somewhere?"

"Not for a while. At least I have time to answer some questions. You do have questions, don't you? I'm sure there are some things you still don't understand."

"Just one. Why didn't you come to us the other day? You know, the morning when - "

"Yes, Eduardo, I know the one. I was there, but I really couldn't face that Egon of yours, and your other friends. And that Patrick Fogg..." She shook her head. "He calls himself a medium, but he can talk to ghosts in the same way that Kylie talks to her cat. Something to do with the letter E indeed! I was screaming your name, and hers. In the end I had to send him to her front door!"

"Yeah, I know. But Kylie... She really wants to see you, man."

"I know," Rose nodded. "I suppose it's easier for me. I can see her whenever I want. It wasn't so easy that year she was on her own, mind you, with nobody but her cat to love her. Now don't get me wrong, Pagan is a wonderful friend to her, but you just can't beat a bit of human companionship. I so hoped she would make friends at college. When you boys came into her life and she joined the Ghostbusters, I was so relieved. But I must admit, I'm a little puzzled as to why you and she still aren't together."

"She's not interested," Eduardo said simply.

"It's all a front. I've been watching you these last few days, and you came so close. But you really ought to let her in, you know."

"No way." Eduardo shook his head, adamant. "I can't talk about that stuff. Not with her, and not with anyone."

"How can you expect her to love you if she doesn't know you?"

That one stumped Eduardo just for a moment. He had no answer. There wasn't one. There was, however, a perfectly good counter question:

"What if I let her get to know me and she doesn't love me?"

"She will," Rose insisted, "if only as a friend. She won't leave you on your own if that's what you're afraid of."

"Ok," Eduardo said. "One more question. Can you, like, hang out with other dead people?"

"Of course I can," Rose answered. "I haven't seen your father anywhere about, I'm afraid. Well, I may have done, but I wouldn't know him. But Emma. Now, I knew when she died she would be cause for concern in your little circle. You can tell that nice young man Garrett, she's perfectly happy. She's with her grandmother."

"He'll want to know how I found out."

"So tell him," Rose said with a shrug. "Just don't tell Kylie about this. She may resent you for it."

"Why? It's not my fault."

"Well, you did put on the gloves."

"Yeah," Eduardo conceded. "I guess I did."

"I hoped you would. I think you needed to talk. You know, to help you, uh... channel your grief."

"Do not remind me of that woman," Eduardo returned, with a shake of the head. "I didn't even need a grief counsellor. I was coping fine."

"Who made you go to her?" asked Rose. "Your mother?"

"Yeah. She thought there must be something wrong with me because I... stopped talking for a little while. But I was ok," he added hastily. "I was eleven and my father had just died. I didn't feel like talking."

"Well, I'm no expert," was all Rose said on the matter. "Now if there's nothing else you want to say, I'll be going."

"Well, it was nice meeting you," Eduardo smiled at her. "And... thanks."

Much like the Cheshire Cat of Wonderland, Rose's smile was the last part of her to disappear. Eduardo couldn't see the old dear grinning like the Cheshire Cat, but her warm smile stayed imprinted in his mind as he was finally able to drift off to sleep. He thought about Kylie, and now found that it calmed him and made him smile. His mind at ease and his body in complete comfort, Eduardo fell into the first peaceful sleep he had experienced for days.

THE END

Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Dan Aykroyd, Harold Ramis and their friends and colleagues at Columbia Pictures. All original characters in this storycreated by me. Thanks for reading. :)


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